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       My Dearest Charlie,

       Gertie is yours, to do with what you will. I know that you cherish her, but you do not need to keep her. She is a gift, not a millstone around your neck. If the best thing for you is to sell her and go travelling, then that is what you should do.

       I have so much to say to you, but my time is running out. I hope that these few words will be enough to show you how much I love you; it’s more than I ever thought possible.

       Look after yourself, think of all the happy times we spent together, and know that you can do anything if you believe in yourself enough.

      Remember, my darling niece, live life to the full – you only get one chance. Make the most of your opportunities and do what is right for you.

       All my love, always,

       Your Uncle Hal x

      Charlie Quilter folded the letter and pushed it into the back pocket of her jeans. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the gloom, and tried to stop her heart from sinking as her dad stopped beside her in the garage doorway. His sigh was heavy, and not unexpected: he had been sighing a lot lately. She could barely remember a time when his narrow shoulders hadn’t been slumped, and she had forgotten what his laughter sounded like. But on this occasion, she felt the same as he did; the sight before them was not inspiring.

      The 1960s Routemaster bus, painted cream with green accents, looked more scrapheap than vintage, and Charlie could see that its months left in the garage without Uncle Hal’s care and attention had had a serious impact.

      ‘God, Charlie,’ Vince Quilter said, stepping inside the garage and finding the light switch, ‘what are you – we – I mean …’ He shrugged, his arms wide, expression forlorn.

      Charlie took a deep breath and, despite the February chill at her back, unzipped her coat and unwound her thick maroon scarf. The wind assailed her neck, newly exposed to the elements after the pre-Christmas, post-break-up, chop-it-all-off graduated bob that – she now realized – had been an ill-advised choice for this time of year.

      ‘We’re going to fix her,’ she said purposefully, putting her bag against the wall and laying her palm flat against the bus’s cold paintwork. ‘We’re going to restore Gertie, aren’t we, Dad?’ He was staring at the workbench where all Hal’s tools were laid out, rubbing his unshaven jaw. Hal’s death had hit him harder than anyone else, and while Charlie felt her uncle’s loss keenly, she knew it was nothing compared to what Vince was going through. ‘Dad?’ she prompted.

      ‘Sorry, love. That we are.’ He started rolling up the sleeves of his jacket,

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